


Keeper of Kirkwall

by rabbitinthewoods



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:23:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitinthewoods/pseuds/rabbitinthewoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke looks uncomfortable, squirming slightly in her seat. “I’ve made some new...friends. Allies. Whatever. I trust them in a fight, but I don’t trust them to not turn over a mage if the reward is high enough. Even if it’s not, for one of them."</p>
<p>Wherein Merrill meets a pirate and an elf, is not a mage (for now) and is, as always, terribly awkward in conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unusual Question

**Author's Note:**

> Confession time. While I've played the first game in this series, I've not played the second. I have watched all the videos of character interaction I could find, but if my lack of game experience puts you off reading this then I understand. Characters may be OOC, world building may be questionable and I may be having too much fun with the characters to pay attention to the plot.
> 
> You have been warned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke has been on her feet all day, so Merrill offers her tea.

Those children of magic born to the Dalish inevitably become Firsts and Keepers, leaders and lore keepers of the people. There are of course times when a Firsts temperament does not lend itself to leadership, and when they become Keepers they serve as advisers to others who guide the clan. But they are always integral, always necessary. With their unique link to the Fade they can protect and serve their clan as no other Dalish is able to; with magic. With knowledge of demons, spells and an innate sense of when things are normal or when they are...otherwise. Even more advantageous is the fact that their weapon is with them constantly, never put away or taken.

Except by templars.

Templars, who can steal your magic and render you helpless, weak. And as the Chantry knows that each clan has at least one magic user at all times, templars are among those humans who actively seek out the Dalish, in a misguided attempt to capture or kill. It has happened. Successes are rare, thank the Creators; captures at first, but they either escaped or found death rather than be a slave to shemlen once more. Killings are more common now than they were then, as the Chantry and their lackeys realised no Dalish was ever willingly going to be a Circle mage, and none would let themselves be subdued so much that the right of Tranquillity could ever be enacted. They died long before that.

Templars are a constant threat. So those children of magic born to the Dalish are trained in more than just spells and fade walking. Each must also learn to wield a more mundane weapon, staff or sword or bow or whatever they are most suited to, so that when the Chantry dogs do come they can defend themselves even with the connection to the Fade cut.  Which means when Hawke comes to her with what she might feel is an unusual question, Merrill can give her a favourable answer.

“Merrill, this may seem stupid, but did you ever train in anything other than magic?” She is standing in Merrill’s hallway, having just come in.

Merrill grabs some mugs and stares into them, assessing their cleanliness. “Of course.” She decides they will have to do, and hands them to Hawke so she is free to heat up some water. “There’s my staff obviously, but apart from that I’m best with the bow. Not too bad with a short sword either.”

“Oh. Really? Thank the Maker.” Hawke glares into the mugs herself, sceptical. They move to sit at the table as the water heats up, Hawke looking grateful for the rest, and flame clean the mugs gently. Merrill gets a confused and curious look from her friend. “How come? I’ve never learnt anything other than a dagger or a staff.”

Merrill remembers an older hunter helping her string her first bow, and smiles fondly. “Part of every clan members training. Keepers and Firsts do it in case we ever meet a templar. Though I did sometimes go out hunting too.” Not as successful as some of the others, of course. Most of her time was dedicated to other things; besides which she lacked, and still lacks, the grace and stealth needed to really flourish when hunting.

Hawke sighs and gives Merrill a beautiful smile. “Good. I’ve got a new job from Athenril, a big one, but there’s a complication.” Hawke decides her mug is as clean as it is likely to get, and places it on the worn table surface. “It’s a clean-out-the-bad-guys kind of thing. Go to the location, kill all of the bandits and their friends, and come home again. Thing is,” she scratches at the side of her face, looking uncomfortable “some of Varric’s contacts said this bunch of bandits has links with the templars. Something to do with lyrium smuggling, I imagine. Whatever it is I’m worried that there’ll be templars there, or that if one of the buggers gets away they’ll give our descriptions to their Chantry friends and we’ll all be dragged off to the Circle.” Merrill nods. It is a legitimate worry, and Varric’s influence can only protect them so far. Hawkes face has a pinched look to it. “Or, you know, not the Circle. I cannot imagine Anders every going back there, or Justice letting him.”

Merrill can understand that. “No Dalish child of magic has every made it to a Circle tower. We’d rather die than be slaves to shemlen will again. Human, I mean. Sorry.” Still, there is a simple solution. “Why take any mages at all?”

Her friend sighs again, scrubbing at her face. “Because this job is big. Too big for me to not want to take everyone with me if I can.” A hand is waved at Merrill. “That’s why I asked about your training. If I can have you along in another role for the fighting I will. Then once the fighting is finished and all enemies are dead or gone you can become a mage again.”

 _What use will my magic be_ after _the battle?_ “I can’t heal, Hawke.”

“I know, but better to have you along anyway. Be prepared for anything.”

She chuckles at Hawke’s determination, fetching the now boiling water and pouring it slowly over the tea leaves. “Like what exactly?”

“Who knows. Demons? Perhaps we’ll find some weird elven artefact you can have. These guys are meant to be squatting in ruins of some kind.” She huffs and looks despondently at Merrill. “Do you not want to come?”

Merrill shakes her head vigorously. “No, no, I do, I was just trying to work out what use I would be.”

“As another ranged weapon if nothing else.”

“True.”

“One other thing.” Here Hawke looks uncomfortable again, squirming slightly in her seat. “I’ve made some new...friends. Allies. Whatever. I trust them in a fight, but I don’t trust them to not turn over a mage if the reward is high enough. Even if it’s not, for one of them. That’s another reason I’m not wanting people to use their magic on this. Let me suss these guys out first. I would do it later, but like I said, this job is a big one. I want as many people along as I can get.”

They take a break from talking to sip the fresh tea, and for a few moments there is a companionable silence. Only when her mug is more than half empty and Hawke is close to finishing does Merrill speak again. “Who are these new people you’ve met then?”

One last mouthful of tea is swallowed, and her friend taps her fingers against her mug in a pleasant little rhythm. “All the introductions are going to be done at once, to save me breath and time. Honestly, I feel like I’ve been constantly moving today. I really don’t know them enough to tell you much, but one is a warrior and one is, she tells me, a duellist.

Merrill nods, and doesn’t even contemplate saying no. “Well, I’m in. When do we leave?”

“Meet tomorrow at the Hanged man, early morning. No staff, hide the lyrium potions and express no knowledge of demons and the Fade beyond the average man.” Large boots are bumped against Merrill’s bare feet as Hawke leans back in her chair. “We’ll do some planning and hopefully be out by lunch. Do you want me to send Varric for you or do you think you’ll be able to find it on your own?”

“Oh don’t worry, I can get around better now.” Merrill stops herself, and giggles. “At least to the Hanged Man, anyway.”

Gillian nods, and a few more pleasantries are exchanged before she leaves. Merrill prepares for the trip; mixing some more potions, mostly healing as she won’t be using much mana tomorrow, and waxing her bow and its string. Going through the motions of fighting with it so her body has fresh memories of them again. Wouldn’t do to turn up tomorrow and look like she hadn’t used it before. She’s missed using it, hunting with the others. She is glad she brought it. It will be nice to fight with it again.


	2. An Elf, a Dwarf and an Apostate Walk Into a Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill gets to the Hanged Man, finds out pants are optional and apparently mind-control is not.

“There’s a pirate and an elf. They’re the two Gillian has reservations about.” Aveline scans the bar’s crowd briefly before tilting her chin towards someone. “That’s the elf.” Merrill tries to be as subtle as the guard was as she searches for the elf in question.

She stares at him, briefly, the first time she sees him. Barely looks away in time to avoid embarrassing herself, in fact. Curiosity was not something she had often had to restrain among her clan, but it is viewed differently by humans. Dwarves and city elves as well she supposes, or at least those peculiar to Kirkwall. Training herself out of the lifelong habit is proving...difficult.

He is an elf, although that isn’t why she had gawped; she had been guiltily pleased to find many of her people in Kirkwall’s alienage, so seeing them isn't rare.

It is probably the vallaslin. Which is...white. Perhaps with a tinge of blue.

Unlikely to really be vallaslin then. She’s not heard of a clan who use such unusual colours. Besides which, she doesn’t recognise the design; makes the tattoos vallaslin status even more unlikely. She has memorised every pattern used for the last five decades.

Is it glowing? Had it glowed just then? Or...maybe reflected some of the sunlight? How odd.

At least it matches his hair. Which is...also odd.

Some of the people in this city can be so _strange_ sometimes.

_Could I just ask him about them? No, you might upset him, or make a fool of yourself. Where’s Gillian? Or Varric? They would know a bit about him I imagine._

She excuses herself to Aveline and shuffles around the group, head bowed slightly as she tries to find one or both of her friends. Hawke is wearing red today, isn’t she, and Varric is –

Ouh. Marble.

Bending down immediately, she scoops it up and lets her mouth fall into an ‘o’ of pleasant surprise. _Such a pretty little blue swirl in the middle..._

“What a lovely sight, sitting there on the floor. The marble’s quite cute too.”

Slightly accented, slightly sing-song. And with an emphasis to the end that makes Merrill sure she’s missed another joke. Her eyes flick up into gold-brown sat beneath black and patterned blue. Her mouth stays an ‘o’, surprise now all over her face.

“I’m sorry, was that a joke?” Her observer’s eyebrows hitch slightly. “Oh, oh dear I am sorry, I didn’t mean it wasn’t funny, I just didn’t _find_ it funny – oh no, I don’t mean that either – I just didn’t laugh, I don’t always get jokes you see, so I don’t laugh – I’m sure it _was_ funny, and clever, and if you’d told it to someone who understood I’m sure they wouldn’t be able to stop laughing.” _Oh, how mortifying. Just stop talking Merrill, you’ll only make it worse._

She has stood now, more level with this poor, undoubtedly very offended woman. Merrill’s hands are cupping her red-stained cheeks, the marble clutched between two fingers. She is certain that she is now a pinkish hue all over; the she can feel the heat of her flush all the way to the tips of her ears.

“Was it a dirty joke? I _always_ miss those, and they’re the ones I most want to hear too.”

The woman snorts, and Merrill realises that her golden eyes contain a great deal of suppressed amusement. With not a single suppressed tear. _Perhaps not so offended after all._

“Dirty jokes? Why didn’t you just say, Kitten. I know plenty of those.”

“Really, Rivaini. You shouldn’t go around corrupting _every_ innocent you see.” Varric appears, thank the gods, from through a dispersing crowd. He’s always so good with words where she is so lacking. Not to mention dramatic entrances.

“Just most then?” Rivaini smirks at the new arrival before turning back to Merrill. “I’ve good the perfect one for you Kitten; an elf, a dwarf and an apostate walk into a bar –”

Varric frowns as he interrupts. “That one’s not dirty.”

“You obviously don’t know the same version then.”

Varric sighs, rolls his eyes and hold a hand out towards each of them. “Merrill, Isabela. Isabela, Merrill.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Isabela. Did you want to look at the marble? Since you thought it was pretty.”

Isabela smiles at her, a wide exuberant thing, and brushes their hands together more than strictly necessary as she takes the marble. It’s held up to her eyes. “It is beautiful.”

“Where did you find it Daisy?”

“On the floor.”

Amusement and disgust fly across Varric’s face. “On the floor? Really Daisy, the floor’s filthy. There are things down there that would gross out a sewer rat.”

She has not thought of that. “It looks clean. Still, I can always...” _Flame-clean it_ she almost says. But she doesn’t know this woman in white and blue. Aveline’s words came to the fore of her mind. _A pirate and an elf._ “Are you a pirate?”

The maybe-pirate laughs and slides closer to Merrill. “Well well, however did you know Kitten?” Merrill hesitates with her answer, trying to think of a way to respond that won’t reveal too much.

“Aveline mentioned you.”

“Aveline?” The now-definitely-a-pirate looks briefly confused before a flash of recognition covers her face. “You mean big girl?”

“Do I?” She turns to Varric for help. “Is that Aveline then?”

Varric sighs, put upon. “How it is she thought of a good nickname for her when I couldn’t I’ll never know.” He half turns, briefly scanning the room and waving a hand toward her. “Come on Daisy, I’ll introduce you to the other guy.” Which Merrill knows means _I’ll watch your back when you meet him in case he tries anything stupid._ The pirate – what was her name? – seems to be thinking the same thing, as she quickly links their arms and sashays an accompaniment across the room to Merrill’s gentle walk. _Or perhaps it’s another ‘Dirty Joke Thing’ I’ve missed. It’s not a modest walk. Oh..._

“You’re not wearing pants. Are you hot?”

The pirate gives her an appraising look, and Merrill notices Varric shaking his head out of the corner of her eye. “I lost them in a storm,” she says, “and I’ve found I’m much better off without them.” Merrill is treated to a blinding grin. “Don’t you agree?”

Before Merrill can answer Varric chips in. Which is probably a good thing. Merrill isn’t sure what you can really say to that. “I swear, the company Hawke is starting to hang around. Shows a real lack of taste.”

Isabela hums. “Have you _seen_ me, Varric? I am delectably tasteful. I’m sure the elf is too.”

 _The elf_ , Merrill remembers. She is a little more eager to meet him then she would like to admit. It will be nice for there to be another elf in their party, presuming he stays. Varric leads the lot of them across the room, where Merrill catches a glance of Gillian leading against a support beam, Anders to her left and the strange elf to her right. Merrill smiles at her, and she beams back. Anders scowls as usual. But then he breaks off and walks towards her, grasping her arm and murmuring, “We need to talk.”

She nods, confused, but relinquishes Isabela’s firm hold and follows Anders away to a table where the others won’t be able to hear or see them.

“Yes, Anders? What is it?”

He looks almost pained, as if even speaking to her is trying. “Gillian talked to you, right? About...these new fellows.”

“Yes. We’re not mages today. I brought my bow.” She taps it over her shoulder, and Anders shoots it a surprised glance.

“You – you know how to use a bow? Why would you know how to use a bow?”

“In case of templars, silly.” Only now does Merrill look properly at Anders. He’s not wearing his usual robes, dressed in light leathers instead, but still has his staff. “What are you using? Not your staff, are you Anders? Are you a mage today? I thought we weren’t mages today? I’m a rogue.”

“Oh, I don’t – we weren’t allowed to learn anything other than staves in the Circle. They used to let us, but...well. Kept us less dangerous if they didn’t I guess.” He seems, of all things, _impressed_ with her. Never has such a positive emotion been directed at her by the apostate. “Learn a different weapon! Why didn’t I ever do that? It seems so obvious now.”

“Well then...I mean...you are coming along with us, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes. I’m posing as a non-magical healer. You know, poultices and herbs and endless reams of bandages. I’m just going to try and somehow _avoid_ the fighting while being right in the middle of it.”

“Right in the middle of it?”

“Well, I’ve still got to get the poultices _to_ people, haven’t I?”

Despite herself Merrill is becoming worried for Anders. It does not sound like he is going to be at all safe. “But, you’ll still be able to hit things with your staff, won’t you? Staves are pretty heavy.”

He gives a deep sigh, and Merrill realises he is actually worried. About himself, about her too, trying to be effective and safe while not fighting at their best. This could go very wrong for them. More so for Anders, suddenly flung from the rear of battles into the very middle. And in true Anders fashion, he jokes about it.

“Well, staves are all very well. Big, heavy, liable to bash skulls in. But it’s not going to be as satisfying as burning things to a crisp. You can’t beat a good fireball.” He laughs nervously, and looks about to continue when she interrupts.

“We’ll look after you.”

“...what?”

“Me and Varric. It’s easier to see things from the back, isn’t it? So we’ll watch you as you go round, and make sure you’re safe. And...and if things really get dangerous, use your magic, and we’ll worry about these strangers later. Gillian won’t mind. I’m sure I can mind-control them long enough for her to get some really good threats in.”

Anders’ jaw has dropped quite dramatically. “I...don’t know whether to be reassured or terrified. We could just _freeze_ them, you know.”

“Oh, yes, that too.” She takes a moment to think. “That would probably be much more sensible, wouldn’t it? Oh I’m so silly –”

“Merrill.” His hands are clasped round her forearms unexpectedly, and a soft smile sits upon his face. “Thank you. I really mean that.”

She blushes at the sincerity in his voice “Oh, you’re welcome.”

He laughs and releases her. “You know, I managed to completely miss what this conversation was meant to be about. I was supposed to tell you –”

“Daisy, Blondie. What are you two doing over here? Hawke’s trying to introduce everyone and you two wander off.” Varric shakes his head ruefully. “I swear, I take my eyes off for you for more than ten seconds and you vanish!”

“Well,” Merrill counters, “I am a rogue today.”

“There is a spell that grants invisibility, I think.” Anders adds.

Varric sighs, long suffering, and Merrill is sure she hears him mutter ‘mages’ under his breath.

“C’mon,” he suggests, “let’s get over there before someone thinks _I’ve_ disappeared.”


End file.
